Oasis-What's the Story Morning Glory?

Oasis-What’s the Story Morning Glory?

 

 

I really like Definitely Maybe, too, and went back and forth on which one to put here. The first two Oasis albums are a great 1-2 punch for Brit-Pop, and a couple of my favorite 90s albums.

In the mid-90s I was living in a small apartment in Pasadena, and I’d finally started making a little money. I decided that it was time to actually learn to play guitar, and so I went to Guitar Center and bought a Epiphone PR-5 cutaway from Korea, which I found to be bright and very playable. Then I headed to a small guitar shop, and hooked up with a teacher, who’d show me some basic blues riffs and scales, which I still use to warm up, and then I’d play a tape of a song that I wanted to play. He’d break it down for me and then write up the tabs, which I would then go home and practice.

I actually got fairly competent, and I could play from sheet music and follow along with other players.

It was the early days of the internet, and America Online had guitar chord forums, and from that I pulled Wonderwall. It’s a simple chord progression, capo on the second fret starting with an Em7, which sounds fancy until you finger the rest of the progression. I was playing it once in a guitar store, and a pretty girl came up and asked what it was, which was really nice. It meant that I was playing something that sounded like a song!

There are many things that I would like to say to you,
but I don’t know how,
except maybe
are you gonna be the one that saves me
and after all,
you’re my Wonderwall

Is something that I would have liked to have written, and the woman I might have written it to then just passed away last week. The video was visually interesting, too, shot in black and white (except for a colored guitar) with Liam singing in a dentist chair placed inside a warehouse and Noel holding a megaphone, singing the chorus in Liam’s ear.

But there are other songs that I really liked, too. Hello starts the album with phased/fuzzed power chords over a bed of acoustic guitars, She’s Electric (from a family full of eccentrics) shows the fighting Gallagher brothers had a sense of humor, and the epic power-ballad Champaign Supernova (where were you while we were getting high?), closes out the album with a touch on melancholy.

Actually, as I listen to the album playing now, melancholy seems to run through many of the songs, like Don’t Look Back in Anger or Cast No Shadow.

Back in the 90s, in spite of the dense sound filling my apartment, I felt like I could play every song on the album. I still feel that way now, making the whole thing relatable.

In  2014, a three disc reissue of the album was released, with remastered sounds, b-sides that I had collected back in the day, and some live performances. I picked it up on eMusic (in the early 00s eMu was a good place to find odds and ends. Not so much anymore) for the price of one disc, and it’s very good.

Tom Waits-Rain Dogs

 Tom Waits-Rain Dogs

When I was 14, I used to watch Fernwood 2Night, (and later, America 2Night). It was a fake talk show from the world of soap opera Mary Hartman Mary Hartman, that had a combination of real guests and guests from ‘Fernwood,’ the mythical town that the talk show was based. Martin Mull was the host, with legendary Fred Willard as his side kick, playing alter egos Barth Gimble and Jerry Hubbard.

Since I was only 14, most of the jokes flew over my head, but the ones I got were pretty funny. Tom Waits was a guest on the original Fernwood 2Night, and I couldn’t tell if he was for real. He sang The Piano has been drinking, not me, and it seemed like kind of a put on, and then his interaction with Mull and Willard was some sort of drunken ramble concerning a broken tour bus and borrowing 20 bucks. It was hysterically funny for a kid who was just leaving Dr. Demento behind and finding his way toward punk rock. I saw Waits as more of an actor, first, since he was a favorite of Francis Ford Coppola and showed up in several Coppola films-I remember him most from Cotton Club.

I picked up Rain Dogs sometime in the late 80s, and there was so much happening on the record that I was immediately attracted to it. I knew about Tom Waits, but really didn’t have any other exposure to his music until buying this album. The opener, Singapore, with it’s odd percussion and unusual word play (“making feet for children’s shoes,” “Wipe him down with gasoline/’til his arms are hard and mean”) pulled me in immediately, and set a tone for the album. It seemed to describe those seedy international port areas that may or may not exist in real life.
 

The other songs were equally dense, and faded one into the next. I could recognize Mark Ribot’s  stinging guitar lines (Keith Richards, G.E. Smith, Robert Quinne and Chris Spedding are in there too), but there wasn’t a rhythm guitar as such in the music. In fact, beyond the percussion and double bass, I’m not sure what instruments were carrying the songs, so it’s appeal was unusual to me and my usual guitar based musical taste. Most songs were difficult to sing along to as well, not because Waits is a great vocalist-distinctive but not great, but the song structures were unusual.
 

Jockey Full of Bourbon, with it’s “Two-dollar pistol but the gun won’t shoot,” seems like a scary place with a dangerous narrator, but the singer for Hang down your head for sorrow, hang down your head for me, may well be the same person looking at what he’s done. Time is a sad song, but I don’t quite understand what’s happening. I’ve always been attracted to the line, “Well she said she’d stick around until the bandages came off.”

Another gruff voiced singer, Rod Stewart, had a hit with Downtown Train, proving that Tom Waits songs can clean up nicely.

My favorite song on the album is the closer, Anywhere I Lay My Head, with what seems like a New Orleans marching band on the fade out. “Anywhere, anywhere I lay my head boys/ Well, I’m gonna call my home.”

I’ve bought several Waits albums over the years, and the Asylum records seem more conventional. It feels like Waits really became ‘Tom Waits’ when he moved to Island, with songs from those five albums feeling like they fit together well, as evidenced by the Beautiful Maladies compilation. His new work is also good (Tom Jones does a great cover of Bad as Me), and Diamond in Your Mind with the Kronos Quartet from Healing the Divide is excellent if you can find it.

Rain Dogs was recently remastered, and is playing in the background as I write this. The bass is very present, (which could be a function of the cheap speakers I have), and the individual percussion instruments seem to stand out more. The sound wasn't bad before, but this does sound a bit cleaner.

Social Distortion-Social Distortion

Social Distortion-Social Distortion

Social Distortion is back on the road, coming to town in a few weeks, and I’ll be there.

Social Distortion was a mainstay on Rodney on the Roq, the old KROQ Sunday night punk rock extravaganza, hosted by Los Angeles’s perennially peripheral Rock 'n Roll character, Rodney Bingenheimer, which was where my listening taste graduated to after years of Dr. Demento. Their second single, 1945, was in heavy rotation and appeared on Rodney’s second compilation album.

Then, in December of ’81, my sister talked me into driving her and her friends to Godzillas, a converted wreck of a bowling alley out in the San Fernando Valley. I wedged my girlfriend, my sister and three or four of her friends into my ’77 green Toyota Celica (not the most I ever got into that car-pre seat belt laws were an exciting time for teenage drivers. And the strangest thing was that everyone’s parents were okay with it), and drove the hour or so from Downey to the venue.

I’d guess that my sister wanted to see Salvation Army, the band that would become the Three O’Clock, which I didn’t care for then because my sister liked them, (but I did own all their vinyl-they were good!), and I liked 45 Grave. Social Distortion was a bit of an afterthought.

Godzillas was a mess of a venue, with several large rooms of teenagers, mostly punk, but valley kids, surfers and others. I stumbled into the room where Social Distortion started to play, and it was an amazing set-band leader Mike Ness blistered through songs like Playpen and Mommy’s Little Monster, and though they were totally hardcore songs, there were harmonies, melodies and pretty good guitar solos to go with the punk rock guitar crunch. The show ended when stage divers knocked down the equipment and Ness stormed off stage. Ness was always anti-stage divers, unlike some of the other bands on the scene.

After that, I saw several Social Distortion shows, and from ’81 to ’84  I’d go see Social Distortion, Agent Orange, X and Wall of Voodoo whenever I could. Mommy’s Little Monster (1983) was a great lp, filled with teenage angst and punk rock fury, and Social Distortion was the high point of the Another State of Mind (1984) film. And then they seemed to vanish.

After addiction and a stint in the County Jail, Ness cleaned up and found old friend and bandmate Dennis Danell and reformed Social Distortion with Prison Bound (1988). Not a bad record, but not like their first one. Like the Rolling Stones, Ness started wearing his blues and country leanings on his sleeve.

The Epic Records debut, Social Distortion, jumped out of the radio. Ball and Chain and Story of My Life are simple, three chord country feeling rockers, with producer Dave Jerden mixing acoustic guitars on the bottom and crunching Les Pauls arching over the noise. The flat out punk rock numbers, like Let it Be Me and She’s a Knock Out seem to ride in on a wave of P-90 glory, with Ness’s crude lead lines surfing over the top.

Since then, I’ve seen Social Distortion several times, including being in the club when Live at the Roxy was recorded (I’m also featured on Kiss’s Alive II). I’m about the same age as Ness, and Downey is Orange County adjacent, so we share many influences. In listening, it sounds like Ness was more of an outsider than I ever was-I really did want to belong, but his songs of growing up echo many of the feelings I had about getting older too.

Songwriters that I seem to relate to because we’re about the same age and seem to be going through some of the same issues include Mike Ness, Paul Westerberg and Matthew Sweet. Other people write songs that I can relate too also, but not as consistently.

Every Social Distortion album is solid, and it was hard to choose between Social Distortion and Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell.

 

Mike Ness

12/7/24

Not a review, but just a quick note-Social Distortion last Tuesday was fantastic! For over 40 years, Social Distortion delivers! 

The mosh pit was much slower then back in the day, but it was friendly like it was when I first started going to shows, and I stationed myself in the same spot I did back then, right at the edge, picking people up and throwing them back in. Of course, the people I was (trying) to pick up were much heavier, and I did have some trouble getting my leverage to throw them, but I liked the energy much better than some of the shows I attended in the mid-80s, where it seemed like the moshers just wanted to hurt people and not just fly around running into people. I guess when you move into your 50s and 60s, hurting people isn't a thing anymore.

Social Distortion's Stage Set

Not to argue with Ness, but he kept alluding to how Social Distortion has been around for 40 years, but that's not quite true. Ness has been, but the entire band has changed several times over the years, though the current line-up has been stable for the last dozen years.

The show was opened by the Defiant, a punk rock supergroup that very much sounded like vocalist's Dickey Barrett's previous group, the Mighty Mighty BossToneS, not a bad thing if you liked them, and I picked up their CD in the lobby, getting the signatures of several bandmembers, who were all chatting up the crowd. Dicky Barrett even slid into the pit during the Social D set, coming over and saying something in my ear that I didn't catch.

The show ended at 11:15, and I'd guess that that back at Godzilla's, Social Distortion was probably just starting their set at 11:15. Old folks got to work the next day.

 

Donovan-The Classics Live

 

Donovan-the Classics Live

What seems like 100 years ago, I had a buddy who was living with an artist on a farm in San Luis Obispo. If I recall, she was reasonably well known on the Central Coast, and though her name escapes me now, she collaborated on a few works with Wyland in the early '90s, among other things.

The girlfriend I had back then and I went up to visit him, which turned into a fight because she didn’t want to stay with them. But we did, being put up in one of her kid’s rooms, and when I woke up in the morning, she was painting in the living room with Donovan’s Classics Live playing loudly. There’s a lot of memories in all that, because it turned into a strange weekend for a variety of reasons, not the least of which was the artist’s much more casual attitude when talking about my sex life. (“I told M——- that you two would get here and f%$@, so there’s plenty of blankets on the bed.” It was true, even though we were fighting, but my Catholic upbringing would keep me from saying something like that).

I’m not an artist-I’m a writer (though if you’ve been reading, you may have your own thoughts), and spending time with her and some painters that were living in her barn was enlightening. I’d just read Brian Wilson’s now discredited autobiography where he was discussing how he thought generally in music, and that there were always melodies playing in his brain. I also remembered taking Spanish in high school, and Sr. Resor explaining that we needed to think in Spanish, and only one phrase ever came to me faster in Spanish than English, “Yo no sé,” (“I don’t know”).

I asked all the painters how they thought, did they think in pictures or words, and then discussed with them their thought process as they prepared to paint-it was fascinating. They generally thought in pictures, and as you might have guessed, I think in words. They didn't seem all that fascinated by it, but I did.

Back to Donovan. Classics Live is mellow, very very mellow to the point of floating away on a cloud. I’ve found a few reviews online, and the knowledgeable music scholars consider this to be a money grab, an artist well past his prime re-recording his classic tunes with the hope that the unsuspecting will pick up inferior versions of the songs the artist made famous on another label.

And it’s most likely true. The Wikipedia page for this album refers to it as Rising, and gives a complicated history for it's release that I wasn't really aware of until I read it. I did know it was a re-issue with a new title when I bought it, but not much else.

No matter. Donovan was a folk singer to begin with, so playing stripped down, acoustic versions of his classics doesn’t hurt the songs in the least. Donovan’s voice is in fine form, and the three new (at the time) songs blend in well, with “Young and Growing,” being one of the best on the album. Hurdy Gurdy Man, Wear Your Love Like Heaven and Sunshine Superman all benefit in this format.

I’ve played it often, pulling it out on Sunday mornings or times when I want some quiet music playing at a loud volume.

My only complaint is that my favorite Donovan song isn’t on here-no Mellow Yellow.

Our Lady of Fatima Russian Byzantine Catholic Church, San Francisco

 If you came up to me and said, “Hey, do you want to go see a one act play?” I’d immediately say, “Sure, what’s it about.”

If you then responded with the following:

The building by the Church

Okay, we go to the little building by a church. You knock on the heavy, wooden door, and a one eyed guy is going to answer. He’s tall, with a beard and wearing a black cassock, and he’ll let you in and send you down this short hallway into a 12’ by 20’ room, with a small stage on one end with part of a curtain. There’s a lot more building around you, all probably over a hundred years old, lot’s of marble and stone-I think it used to be convent, so you get some of that ‘old nun’ vibe, but you don’t go that way. There’ll be chairs around the outside wall of the room, and maybe a half dozen people with you. A lectern will be in the middle

The Hallway

facing the small stage. The walls will be painted with those flat perspective Russian-type folk paintings, and every surface will be brightly colored. There’s some stained glass windows, and some phrases written on the walls in some sort of gothic font, too.

The show starts when a guy in a robe comes out and starts reading at the lectern. He won’t acknowledge the crowd, he just goes. It’s in English, but he doesn’t pause at sentences or anything-he just keeps reading, facing away from you and you have to keep up. The one eyed guy comes out and swings around some incense, and occasionally answers the first guy.

Some singing’s going to be happening offstage at different points. Again, it’s in English but hard to understand. A third guy comes out and opens the curtain. He speaks English, too, it’s all in English, but there’s no punctuation. There’s some marching about the room from the actors, and more incense and operatic singing.

There’s lots of repetition of lines and phrases, and occasionally you’ll have to answer. After about an hour and a half, they’ll be serving some fancy bread and wine, and one of the guys is going to fork it into your mouth. You have to hold still, though, or you might lose an eye.

The whole thing goes about two hours, and they serve lunch after.

I’d be like, “Sure, I’m in. Lunch too? What’s it going to cost?”

And you’d go, “That’s the great part-you don’t have to pay anything, but you can leave a donation.”

That’s probably not the description that the congregation for Our Lady of Fatima Russian Byzantine Catholic Church would use, but that’s what it felt like.

I was alone in San Francisco on a Sunday morning, waiting for my daughter to wake up and summon me, and thought I’d go to Mass. San Francisco has more Catholic Churches than any place I’ve ever been, and a few were in walking distance of my motel. I picked a distance of about 1.5 to 2 miles, and had a few options. I’d been to St. Ignatius, the church affiliated with the University of San Francisco (which is beautiful), and wanted to try a different place. Google maps pointed out two other churches, and I picked Our Lady of Fatima-there was a coffee place on the way there.

I’ve been to several Roman Catholic masses in my life, including Mass deep in Baja California, Hiroshima, and the Vatican. As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found churches to be peaceful, and the Mass that I attended twice weekly in Catholic school is burned in so deeply that I can listen to the Roman Catholic Mass in another language and pretty much still know where its at-a fact that I found especially fascinating while listening to Mass in Japanese. Though there are subtle differences from church to church and diocese to diocese (the accent in the hymn Ave Maria come to mind-is it Áve or Avé?), Roman Catholic Masses are all pretty much the same.

Though Our Lady of Fatima is part of the San Francisco Arch-Diocese, it is a Russian Byzantine Mass, and that’s much different. It’s longer, to start with, and the changes of Vatican II, back in the 60s, don’t seem to apply, beyond the Mass wasn’t in Latin. Most of the Mass was done facing the alter, and there was little participation from those in attendance. There was a reading and a Homily, in which the priest explained a few of the differences, but everything else seemed out of order to me.

It should be noted that Russian Byzantine has nothing to do with the Russian government, and was not pro-Russia in any way. It is part of the Eastern Orthodox Churches, and though it falls under Pope Francis, the head of the Church (the Ordinary) Joseph Werth is based in Novosibirsk, Siberia. There are very few Russian Byzantine parishes in the US (seven from what I can gather). It’s actually supposed to be very similar to Russian Orthodox, except that Russian Byzantine fall under the direction of the Pope, while Russian Orthodox does not.

Of the other half dozen people who attended with me, one appeared to be a regular attendee, two had been congregates from years past, one lived nearby and was just trying something different and the other two were tourists like me. The lunch after word was okay, a crock pot hearty soup, some bread and a green salad, which was served in what was most likely the nun’s dining hall, and I spoke some to the lady who lived nearby but had never been and to the very friendly deacon (Deacon Bruce?), who answered my questions, of which I had many.

I’d talk about “Faith Journey” or “Spiritual Growth” at this point, but that really wasn’t what this was. I wanted to see something different, something that I wouldn’t see elsewhere that was positive, and the Mass at Our Lady of Fatima was that.

Revolver-the Beatles

 

Revolver-The Beatles

A record store opened up in Bell across from Veteran’s Park on Gage sometime in the early 70s, and they had something that I’d never seen before-a used record section. I was probably about 10, and the idea that someone would sell their records was unheard of to me. Who would buy a record and then sell it? After saving up your allowance, or working some deal with your parents, much careful consideration, and then the act of picking up a record and taking it to the hip record counter person and facing their knowing look of either approval or disdain, who would then take the record home, play it and decide it wasn’t for them and take it back?

I didn’t know that person.

I looked through the bins with a bunch of records that I had never heard of and would never buy until I came across a copy of the Beatles’ Revolver. 10 year old me knew two of the songs, Yellow Submarine and Eleanor Rigby. I was still pretty early in my musical experience, and to that point, I thought Yellow Submarine was only on the Yellow Submarine movie soundtrack. I didn’t know the other songs, but for whatever reason, I paid the person, a young, bra-less vaguely dirty hippy looking woman at the counter, and went home to put the record on my parents’ Zenith console stereo (which I still have in the garage), and was amazed by George Harrison’s count off to Taxman. It’s a count that I still use in my head when I dive into a cold pool.

The transition from Taxman to Eleanor Rigby is jarring, a tribute to George Martin’s string arrangement and the stylistic variety of Beatles music. Other songs still pop into my subconscious when I don’t expect it, like the line from She Said She Said-“I know what it’s like to be dead/I know what it is to be sad/and it making me feel like I’ve never been born.”

“Turn off your mind relax and float down stream,” from Tomorrow Never Knows accompanies me when I’m suffering from bouts of insomnia. McCartney’s pop songs are good, but Lennon’s drug influenced songs are the ones that stick. A Jam Cover of And Your Bird Can Sing brought the original back into my consciousness in the 90’s, when I purchased the first CD version.

Fancy terms like “Bb Mixolydian” are thrown around in scholarly reviews, but the important thing is that this is still a pop record. The longest song on the album, I’m Only Sleeping, clocks in at 3:02, and all 14 songs take only 35 minutes. As a reference, the Ramones classic third album, Rocket to Russia also has 14 songs and takes 31:46, making Revolver a shade over three minutes longer. The Beatles brought a variety of influences to the record, but by keeping it short and the songs being built around familiar structures, the record remains accessible. The depth of the music has kept it close to the top of my record rotation for over 50 years, and as I play it this afternoon (2009 remaster, which sounds a zillion times better than my original, 90's version), it still surprises. 

For the very serious Beatles fans, here's where you can get the super deluxe 2022 version.

Yard Sale/Joe Cardella

Benji and the Cone

Since the pandemic, my dog Benji and I walk the mile and a half to the beach every Saturday, and often stop at yard sales on the way. He is my yard sale consultant, and so far has picked up tiki mugs from Harvey’s of Lake Tahoe, a Craftsman Scroll Saw, and assorted books among other things. Today he’s wearing the cone due to a procedure on his ear yesterday, and I thought it best to stay away from the sand that he likes to roll around in. Instead of the Starbucks at the end of Seaward that we normally frequent on a Saturday morning, we headed to Simones by the hospital.

I’ve written about Simones (though this is the new one) before, and should update that post. They’re still good.

We walked the long way back home to try to get close to the 6 miles we normally do on a Saturday morning, and happened by a yard sale in a part of Midtown that we don’t normally walk through.

There were interesting things, like some vintage tools and bottles that I thought looked cool but had no use for, as well as some art work that again, looked interesting, but I don’t really have a place for. I did find some ceramic insulators for $2 a piece, to go with my collection that I use as yard decorations. I picked out two.

There was a couple and an older man running the yard sale. She was trying to get a Margaritaville Blender to work and seemed disappointed that all it did was crush ice. The older man said the parrots had left the trees, and her husband (I think) was talking to me about various items they had for sale.

An Original

I saw this mixed media painting, and he said that I could have it, that he didn’t think anyone else would want it. I wasn’t sure that I wanted it either, but it will fit in with the tiki bar I someday wish to have, so I accepted.

He said that the artist, Joe, lived behind his house on the next street, and that Joe had made it on an idle afternoon in Florida, when his friends were off doing something that he didn’t want to do. Joe had passed a few years before, throat cancer the guy said, and they had become friends over the fence, especially after his wife would make soup that Joe could eat. I asked if the artist’s name was on it, and he said yes pointing to where it was on the front of the work, J. Cardella.

Home now, I looked up Joe Cardella (follow the link to learn what I learned) not expecting to find anything, and after the brief internet search, I’m now quite proud of the piece that I’ve acquired. It’ll still go in the tiki bar that I don’t have, but now I have a story to go with it. Apparently well known in the Ventura and national art scene, I now have an original, though minor, museum worthy piece.